Winds esker               
  
                                          
 There Was This  Place That For Two Years 
 I Couldn'T Go  To.  Regardless  How Much 
 Discussed  With  Others, Or Pointed  Out 
 On  Maps,  I  Could Not Think Of It When 
 Alone.  I  Would  Often  Travel Past The 
 Fork,  Where A Right Turn  Would  Surely 
 Take  Me There, But Even Then, Something 
               Kept Me Away.              
                                          
 When  I  Finally Got  There, After  Some 
     Heavy Subconscious Battle I Must     
 Assume,   The  Place   Was  Surreal.  An 
 Esker,  Like  A  Needle-Thin Rift Out In 
 The  Lake,  But   Ten  Meters  High  And 
 Adorned In  Birch, Willow, Bracken,  And 
               Blueberries.               
                                          
 Walking  Atop  That  Spine,  I  Came  To 
 Notice The View  To  Either Side.  There 
 Should  Be  Shores,  Of  Course,  But  I 
 Didn'T Recognize Them. First  Off,  They 
 Were Much Too Close,  As The Lake Should 
 Stretch  For  A Hundred Meters  More  On 
 Both  Sides.  But  Now  I Felt  I  Could 
 Almost  Reach Out And  Touch  Them.  And 
 Then,  When I Realized Which Shores They 
           Were, I Had To Stop.           
                                          
 They  Were Of The  Right Lake.  But This 
       Lake Is Large, Fractured, And      
 Bipartite. Like A  Pair Of  Lungs Carved 
 Into The Granite, And With No  Less Than 
   Five Communities Anchored At Various   
      Points. And So, Studying These      
     Impossibly Close Shores, I Slowly    
 Understood  Them As Belonging Many Miles 
                  Away.                   
                                          
 I  Examined  The  Ridge,  The   Treeline 
 Above. Was  This What  You Saw Opposite, 
 From  Those  Other  Shores?  I  Couldn'T 
                 Remember.                
                                          
 Carrying Forward,  On  The Very  Tip  Of 
 The Esker, I  Found The  Ruins  Of  Some 
    Old Building. There Were Overgrown    
 Marble Staircases, Stone Floors Beneath  
 The  Moss,  And Strange  Slabs  Inserted 
 Into The  Slope Like  Dams  Against  The 
              Ground Itself.              
                                          
 Sitting There, I  Could  See Across  The 
 Narrowed Lake My Entire Path To Where  I 
 Sat: From  The  Stairwell Of  My  House, 
 Through The  Old Woods  Behind The  Tile 
      Factory, The Bridge Over Route      
 Twenty three  And  Then  Back Under  It, 
 Through  The  Fancy   Villas,  Over  The 
 Fields, And Then That Right Turn  At The 
                  Fork.                   
                                          
 And  Then The  Stairs Up On  The  Ridge. 
 Thinking  Back,  This Was  Probably  It. 
 Hidden  In  A  Grove,  There Were Stairs 
 Much Like The  Ones  I Currently Sat On, 
 Old  And  Worn  Down,  That Lead You  Up 
 Onto  The Esker. The Point Of Entry. Had 
 I Insted  Opted To Walk The Path At  Its 
 Foot, I'M  Sure  My Experience  Would'Ve 
          Been Different Indeed.          
                                          
  
                                          
 On   The  Lake,  There  Were  People  In 
 Boats. I Wondered, Could They  Even  See 
 Me?  If I Shouted,  Would They  Turn  To 
          Stare Right Through Me?